Alleviated
by swaggyzebraTW
Summary: When Sweets and Bones go on a mission to find out about a mysterious death, they see a bass player for a metal band slit his own throat. One thing leads to another, and Sweets ends up telling the story if his terrifying childhood. rated T for light gore and language, mostly because I am paranoid. Slight Brennan/Booth Romance. Based on Season four, episode eleven: Mayhem On A Cross.


**AN: Here is another one shot about Sweets' past. It is based on the episode **_**Mayhem On A Cross**_**, and is pretty much a detailed version of his past. I just started watching the show and I love it, especially Sweets. He is so cute... But that is besides the point. Anyway, please review and enjoy. **

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. All rights go to Fox™. I am making no money from this.**_

I looked at the man bleeding beneath me, crimson liquid pouring from the large gash in his neck. The "decorative" knife he had used to slit his own throat was lying on the floor beside him, also coated in the sticky substance. Heavy metal could still be heard blaring from the speakers; however no bass was sounding. The bassist had been the one who had slit himself; so there was no one playing the bass that was currently laying discarded a few feet to my right.

On my left, was Bones; who looked shocked while she continued to hold the phone to her ear, talking to Booth. She was used to the sight of blood and gore, due to her anthropology job; but she was not prepared to witness the harm first-hand. Neither was I, and we only had basic first aid lessons under our belts; Brennan albeit a little more advanced then I; but lacking experience all the same.

Her expression was concerned as she jumped onstage. "Sweets! Get pressure on the wound!"

I moved to look around for some cloth to hold to the man's neck; which was still bleeding profusely. There was a nearby sweat-rag that I saw, and went to reach for. Despite it being highly unsanitary, without a doubt; it was better then nothing, so I moved to stand.

However, before I could get up, Brennan sprinted to me. Her hand moved to my back, and I looked into her eyes. They were nervous, yet I could tell that she had a plan. A good one in her eyes, one that she thought would work; one that would save the life of the bassist. A plan that I did not yet know; but she thought that I would go along with.

Before I could ask her about it, I felt her right hand fist into my shirt, making it ball up in her fingers. They tightened a little more, and before I could stop her; Brennan yanked at the fabric. My shirt tore, ripping along the seams, before sliding along the planes of my back; exposing the scars, making me jerk to right in a desperate attempt to hide them from her. It hadn't looked like she had seen them.

"You could have asked," I snapped quietly before reminding myself that there was no true reason to be angry at Bones. She was only trying to save a man's life.

Bones acted as if she hadn't heard me; picking up the scrap of clothing that had fallen from my back and onto the floor. After picking it up, she removed her hand from my back, and walked towards the victim; who was somehow still alive. Brennan knelt down next to him; before pressing the rag against his neck, the blood quickly seeping through the shirt. She kept the pressure up anyway.

"Booth, call an ambulance." Brennan said clearly into the phone, which was still held to her ear.

I couldn't help but feel vulnerable with the scars showing in public. Even with the dimness of the room, I knew that they were visible. It was inevitable; the pink of the scarred tissue contrasted vibrantly against my pale skin, making each of the marks obvious. Every single lash of my father's whip; visible for all to see. Any one of these junkies would be able to see my back, and assume about my past. I did not want that.

What my father had done to me had been terrible. I hadn't deserved it. Hell, no child deserved to go through what I had to. It was too horrible. Being torchered by a parental figure at such a young age was disturbing; especially considering that they were supposed to love you unconditionally. My father hadn't.

It had all started when I was three. A toddler, a small child. I had been wishing to play baseball with a few friends, so I had asked my father if I could. He had been with my mother at the time; in their room. He had probably been hurting her, abusing her like he would me. I hadn't known then; being only a young kid who knew nothing of a bad life. I hadn't yet learned of crime; and I was not tainted at all in bad way. Not that I had known.

My father, claiming that he was busy, had reluctantly agreed to let me play; as long as I fed the dog before I left. Our dog had been a large German Shepherd, whom I had been afraid of. It was mean, trained to fight. Every time I went to feed the dog, it barked loudly and tried to bite me. So, I had learned to avoid Buster at all costs.

Not wanting to feed Buster, due to his hatred for me and his cruelty, I decided not to. I had simply walked out the door after retrieving my jacket, and went to meet up with the boys and play baseball. The game had been fun, my team even winning after two hours.

I had walked home and entered my house, as nonchalantly as possible. I had predicted that my dad would be mad, but forgive me after a brief scolding. Man, had I been wrong about that. My father had been beyond pissed at my ignorance; and had admonished me for a very long time that night. And then, he had brought out the whip.

The object was long, and looked oddly natural in his hands; as if he had held the whip many times before. I guess he probably had, using it on my mother. My father walked towards me, the object tight in the grip of his left hand. His dominant hand, the hand that could be used to bench one hundred and twenty pounds. The same hand that he used to spank me with.

"Father?" I had asked, right before he stood in front of me.

"Turn around." He ordered loudly, his voice bellowing and bouncing off the walls in an echo.

I had done so, slowly with caution. I had not known what he planned to do as he ripped my shirt over my head. Yet that had become clear as he brought the whip down across my back.

I remember my shoulders burning, myself crying out before he brought the whip down once more, this time on the other shoulder blade. The pain had surged around my body, every nerve feeling as if it had been set afire. I had fallen to my knees due to the agony, and my screams pierced through the chilled evening air.

He had laughed at my pain, and said, "You shall learn your lesson," before he brought the object back down across my bare back a few more times. The total assault had lasted fifteen minutes, giving me my first scars, that had only marked the beginning of my terrible childhood. Since that accident, I had been whipped many more times, all by my father. Every time he brought the whip to my flesh, he claimed he had a reason for it. I never thought he did, and I never forgave him. How could I after what he had done to me? He had given me such a traumatic childhood, that had done me no good for the future.

"Sweets?" I heard a voice ask, snapping me out of my reverie and back to reality.

I looked in the direction of the voice, and noticed that the music had stopped playing. Brennan had been trying to talk to me. "Yes?" I asked nonchalantly, unknowing how long I had been out of it.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her hand still keeping pressure on the victims throat.

I choked a little. "Yeah, of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Had I really been out that long? Had Brennan actually noticed that I was off in space? Did she see my scars after all? Was she just guessing? Were her lack of social skills the reason for her question? Did she feel bad herself? Was there something wrong with the man whom's neck she was holding? I didn't know.

'Shut up, Sweets.' I told myself. 'Your a physicologist, you should know what is up, you can read anyone's emotions.'

"Umm.. Just guessing. The ambulance is here." She said softly, before refocusing on the bassist.

Sure enough, I spotted some medical assistants racing our way. They were all dressing in their red hospital gowns, and wore field caps and boots. All stereotypical doctors and nurses. All had families and kids. All had boyfriends and husbands and wives. All made a decent income. They were never beaten as children. They had good childhoods. I didn't.

"Thank you 'mam, we can take it from here." A southern man said to Bones, before taking her place with the man.

She walked towards me. "Ready to go, Sweets? Booth needs us back."

"Sure, I have an extra shirt in the car." I said carefully, trying not to draw extra attention to my back, but be professional at the same time.

She said nothing in response as we walked out of the slaughter house, and down the small bit of dirt road to the car. It was only two minutes before I was opening up the door, and climbing inside the vehicle.

I grabbed a shirt out of the backseat, trying to turn my back out of Bones' sight in the process. I did not want her to see my scars, and I did not wish to tell her about my childhood. No one at the office knew yet, and I wished to keep it that way. I did not want their pity, or their sorrow. I was happy with my current position in the office, and did not want to mess that up for myself. I was happy now. The past is the past. My childhood can not be changed.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asked suddenly as she put the key in the ignition.

Damn. "About what?"

She gave me a sad look before whispering. "I saw the scars, Sweets."

So she had seen them. "What scars?"

Bones shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's none of my business."

I sighed. "Their from my father, when I was three."

Never, had I ever told anyone about that. Not willingly. That had been the one secret that I had always kept over the years; never telling anyone. Only my adoptive parents had known; and they had just passed a while ago. Weeks within each other. It had been a sad time, but they had taught me enough. They had made me the good person that I am today. They had fixed the issues my father had caused.

"Sweets," She whispered, looking at me with a sad expression on my face.

"It happened. There was nothing that you or I could have done about it. Just, don't go telling everyone, okay?" I stammered quickly, noticing that it felt nice to get all of that off my chest. My burden felt almost alleviated.

"Okay. I am truly sorry. If it makes you feel any better, my father once locking me in the truck of a car for three days." Bones stated sadly, no smile to be seen on her face.

"I'm fine, now. My adoptive parents were really nice to me. They helped me get over it."

"What happened to them?" She asked.

"They passed away a year ago. Right before I joined." I stated, before giving her a look that stated that I did not want to discuss it any farther. The past is the past. What is done is done. What has ended had ended.

**AN: There it is. The reason why I did not get my Science and Math homework done. I hoped you all liked it, I got the idea in LA class. It just came to me. Lol, anyway review. It means a lot.**


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